6. Coffee and Boundaries
Coffee and Boundaries
Morgan
Monday morning arrived with the precise reliability Morgan appreciated in all well-functioning systems. Coffee at six a.m., Rusty’s breakfast and morning walk, shop unlocked by six-thirty, diagnostic check on the Hernandez family’s minivan by seven.
The morning air was already warming, clear and still, dry August stillness that promised real heat by noon.
Morgan preferred Mondays. The social expectations of the weekend—little as there were on her these days—gave way to purposeful work, people returning to their routines instead of wandering around looking for entertainment.
She had three vehicles scheduled for service, a parts delivery arriving at noon, and a transmission rebuild that would occupy most of her afternoon.
On her desk lay another envelope from the developer.
Later. She’d figure it out later.
She slammed the drawer shut and Rusty lifted his head from his spot under the service desk, watching her with patient eyes.
“I know,” she told him. “We’ll figure it out.”
Somehow.
His tail thumped once—unconvinced but loyal.
She was calibrating the diagnostic computer when she heard footsteps in the parking lot.
Too early for her first appointment, and the footsteps had an irregular rhythm—hesitant, uncertain.
Morgan glanced up to see Nora Carter approaching the shop’s entrance, pink-streaked hair catching the morning light.
She wore a large shirt and jeans shorts, with a pair of low boots that showed off her legs.
Morgan’s first thought, after the legs, was mechanical failure. The Honda had been running fine when Nora left yesterday, but older cars could develop new problems without warning.
“Good morning,” Nora said when she reached the bay door. She drummed her fingers against her jeans shorts. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Is there a problem with your car?”
“What? No. No, the car’s perfect. Runs like… well, like a car that works.” Nora’s laugh sounded nervous. “Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee. With me. Together.”
Morgan stared at her, trying to process the request.
Coffee.
Together.
As in, leaving her shop during work hours to sit in a public place and engage in recreational conversation with someone she barely knew.
“Together,” Morgan repeated, because the word seemed to require confirmation.
“I mean, if you’re not too busy. I know it’s Monday morning, and you probably have a whole schedule, but I thought…” Nora trailed off, color rising in her cheeks. “You know what, this was stupid. I didn’t think, and I should let you get back to work.”
She turned to leave, and Morgan felt an unexpected urge to stop her. Not because she particularly wanted to drink coffee in public, definitely not, but… something about Nora’s embarrassment triggered a recognition she couldn’t quite identify.
Coffee doesn’t mean anything, Morgan thought. Connections don’t last.
But forty-five minutes wouldn’t hurt. Probably.
“I haven’t had breakfast,” Morgan said.
Nora paused, looking back over her shoulder. “Really?”
“The shop doesn’t open officially until eight. I have forty-five minutes.”
“So that’s… a yes?”
Morgan considered the practical implications, with how long it would take to get there and the speed of service… The variables were manageable, even though the offer was surprising.
“Yes,” she said, and was surprised to find she meant it.
Rusty padded out from under the desk, tail wagging slow and steady. He sniffed Nora’s extended hand, then leaned against her leg with a contented sigh.
“Morning, buddy,” Nora said softly, scratching behind his ears. Her breathing evened out, shoulders dropping slightly.
They strolled to Bean There in comfortable silence, at least on Morgan’s side.
Nora seemed to be actively restraining herself from filling the quiet with conversation, which Morgan appreciated more than she’d expected.
Most people treated silence like a problem that needed immediate solving, and while Nora definitely leaned that way, she was at least trying not to.
The cafe was busier than it had been on Saturday, filled with the Monday morning rush of people grabbing coffee before work. Morgan recognized some faces—customers who brought in their cars, neighbors, people who waved and expected her to remember their names.
They ordered, coffee and a breakfast sandwich for Morgan, something involving multiple adjectives and extra foam, plus a muffin, for Nora, all paid for by Nora with a comment of, “I asked you out for coffee,” that Morgan turned around in her head several times, trying to decipher.
They found a table near the window.
“Thank you for coming,” Nora said. “I know this probably seems random. It’s just… yesterday at your shop was the most peaceful I’ve felt in weeks, and I thought maybe…”
She didn’t finish the sentence, but Morgan found herself curious about where it might have gone.
Yesterday had been unusual for her too, having someone observe her work without asking unnecessary questions or offering unhelpful suggestions.
Most people either ignored her completely or treated her expertise as entertainment, but Nora had watched with interest, asked thoughtful questions for a complete newbie, and somehow managed to be present without being intrusive.
“You said your life feels chaotic,” Morgan said.
“Very.” Nora’s smile was rueful, and she ran a hand through her hair, then let it drop to the table where she drummed her fingers against the wood. “I’m sort of between everything right now. Between projects, between… between knowing who I am and having no idea what I’m doing.”
“That sounds difficult,” Morgan said, because responses were expected in conversation, and this seemed like the appropriate one.
“It is. But also… maybe necessary? Like sometimes you have to take everything apart before you can figure out how to put it back together properly.” Nora paused, considering her own words. “Actually, that’s probably a terrible metaphor to use with someone who fixes things for a living.”
“It’s not terrible. I do that, sometimes.”
“See? You understand.” Nora’s expression brightened, and her hands came up as she spoke.
“Most people just tell me to think positive or follow my passion or some other advice that sounds good but doesn’t actually help.
I mean, I’m passionate about music, definitely, but right now, it’s just…
not working. So how am I supposed to follow it? ”
The barista called Nora’s name. Morgan stood to collect their drinks and food, and when she returned, she caught Nora doing something subtle—four fingers tapping her thumb in sequence, then three, then two, then one. A counting exercise. Morgan recognized the grounding technique from therapy.
“Can I ask you something?” Nora said, reaching for the sugar. Her hand brushed Morgan’s, a brief contact that sent an unexpected jolt through Morgan’s nervous system.
Morgan pulled back automatically. “Okay.”
“Have you ever been in a relationship?”
The question landed like a wrench dropped on concrete—loud, unexpected, impossible to ignore. Morgan’s jaw tightened. This was exactly the kind of personal territory she avoided, the conversations that led to explanations she didn’t want to give.
“Yes,” she said carefully. “But not for a while.”
“By choice?”
“Does it matter?”
“I guess not.” Nora stirred her coffee, thoughtful. “I just… you seem very self-contained. Like you don’t need anyone.”
“I don’t.” The words came out sharper than Morgan intended. “Need is how people get hurt.”
Nora peered up, meeting Morgan’s eyes directly. Something shifted in her expression—recognition, maybe, or understanding. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “It is.”
The moment stretched between them.
“Why did you really come back here?”
Nora’s hand tightened on her cup. “I told you. Visiting family.”
“That’s not the real reason.”
“How would you know?”
“Because I notice things. I just don’t always understand them.”
“Well, you’re right. I didn’t just come back to visit.
” Nora took a breath, fingers doing that counting sequence again.
“My grandfather died four months ago. He left me land—twenty acres outside town. And I haven’t even been able to visit it because every time I think about going there, I…
” She took a deep breath before saying, “I can’t breathe. ”
They sat with that for a moment. Morgan understood avoidance, understood the way grief could make simple actions feel impossible.
“I’m sorry,” Morgan said. “About your grandfather.”
“Thank you.” Nora managed a small smile.
“He was… he taught me guitar. Believed in me more than anyone. And I wasn’t there when he died.
I was on tour, being a professional musician, proving I’d made something of myself.
And now he’s gone and I should’ve realized he was more important than fame, and I have this land and Dad thinks I should sell it because he and Gramps didn’t get along, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. ”
The raw honesty was uncomfortable. Morgan didn’t know how to respond to that level of disclosure from someone she barely knew. She filed the phrasing—when no one else did—and the word Dad, and how Nora had moved past both of them quickly.
Before she found the right words to respond, a young woman appeared beside their table—college-age, with carefully styled hair and a bright smile that screamed I’m coming for favors.
“Oh my God, you’re Nora Carter!” the woman said, her voice carrying across the cafe in a way that made Morgan’s shoulders tense. “I love your music! Could I get a selfie?”
Morgan watched Nora’s face cycle through expressions—surprise, automatic performer’s smile, then something that looked almost panicked as her gaze flicked to Morgan and back to the fan.
“That’s so sweet of you,” Nora said, glancing quickly at Morgan before smiling at the fan. “But I’m having a private conversation right now.”
“Oh, but I just wanted to—”